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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1855
He's unusually merry for the morning, flushed cheeks and a contented smile upon his face, the Owner suspects that he's again taken to drinking.
He's not going to last.
The staff tells me that he stinks of booze, I can't tell, I give all the male staff a fairly wide berth out of caution, there are the not infrequent belches and farts that must be navigated around. They watch the security cameras, but they can't see any trace of his drinking, the owner looks around and can find nothing on the bar, suspects him of quick swigs from the bottle, I'm suspecting there might be a hip flask concealed in his slightly capacious trousers.
He's short, bald, looks easily 10 years older than he is, that is what the waiter's lifestyle will do to you. But he seems happy enough. A gold chain flashes from beneath a rolled up cuff, a couple of large and gaudy rings, he's old school, where you tried to look at least as rich as the people you served.
Pouring drinks, carrying a tray or plate, he's got the shakes and has to set things down, sobriety, perhaps, or the long years of drinking catching up to him.
Not even 10 years older than me he's a career waiter, everyone in Calgary knows him, have been served by him somewhere throughout the city. Knowing him is not a good thing, it's an excuse for him to stop and chat and catch up with our customers, he's not so quick as it is and now he's doing less.....
And he talks shit. Waiter shit, in 4 languages, fixing the house, his wife, his trips to the bar where he only drinks soda pop and coffee (being a recovering alcoholic and all), his operations and general health, the importance of having doilies to line the plates with....
We all know he's not long for the course, as soon as someone better walks through the door, it's tough to be too friendly knowing, he knows this as well, brings in sandwiches to share, somewhere in the back of his mind there must be the realization that he's not carrying his weight, that this is just another short stop on the way to unemployment...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1872
She came to the restaurant last year with her mother, father, sister, her mother wanted a job.
That's how they do things.
I laughed and told the owner that they were gypsies, and a couple of the older ladies in the kitchen would catch your eyes and smile, they knew what I was talking about, the owner was dubious.
And while her mother didn't work out, a bit lazy, a bit stupid, as it were, the daughter stayed and helped out in the front of house.
Now at first she was a hard worker - for a hostess, wandering around and pouring water when she wasn't seating tables, but that was merely the first impression, and shortly in to the job she began moderating the work she did and carved out a niche flirting with the bosses nephew, eating buns and stolen desserts, texting away in dark corners of the restaurant....
Her father hasn't had a job since immigrating to Canada. They all arrived about two years ago, and at the beginning the father was careful to get everyone jobs, the wife, his daughter - the one old enough to work, but for himself there was nothing. He wasn't particularly interested in working. What with the government cheques and his wife and daughter's income, he didn't really need to work.
The mother, she was, while she worked there - very friendly with the owner. Friendly in the sense that she'd want to discuss private matters with him locked in his office, and most of the staff caught on pretty quick what she was up to. The owner as well, and so she made her exit.
She found another job, locally in the Italian community, and we heard through the grapevine that the owners of **** were getting a divorce as a result of an affair she'd been conducting, and everyone nodded, they all knew, after all - and here they borrow my phrase - "they're gypsies".
I tease her about being a gypsy, she doesn't like it, argues - poorly, that they're not and she doesn't understand that I'm just winding her up. I stop, less to stop giving offense than because she's beginning to wind me up...
She likes to talk. About school, for someone who had to learn English as a third language she's doing pretty good, in most of her classes she's achieved honors with distinction. One has the feeling that she's teacher's little pet...
Still something's not right.
She tells us how smart she is. She's so smart that her guidance counselor is worried that if her brain keeps running as fast as it's running it could explode, she's that smart. She tells us this with a straight face, she believes every word of it. And if academic performance is everything then indeed she's very smart. I'm not so convinced.
She checks the tips, every tip that comes off the table she checks the amount. She's tipped out, a busgirl, not a server, but she wants to know what we make. Staff don't like this.
She complains about her tip out, she's the last to arrive, the first to leave, her tips, they're discretionary, the waiters agree on what she's to be given but she finds cause for quarrel every time.
I bring in the trinkets - garage sale finds for the waitresses, she coos over them, asks me why I don't bring her any....one day I find her something, she throws it back at me - "not my style" she tells me.
***She wonders why I don't bring her things. I mustn't like her. Can we please talk about why I don't like her? She likes me.
***Now the Nephew, he's probably given her vanity a little too much of a boost, perpetually groping her and trying to pull her into corners, youth is always attractive but she - specifically - is not so. She has the general shape of the A&W Root Bear, and forever you find her snacking on the desserts she's supposed to be preparing for tables, or dipping biscotti into sweetened milk.
***I pick up some ice cream, it's the weekend and I've thought to make a bit of a treat, iced cappuccinos for the staff. And she follows me about, excited as a cat when they hear the sound of opened cat food, telling me I should have bought a different flavour of ice cream, never letting me out of her sight, waiting until I've poured them out and quickly grabbing one for herself before taking a sip and complaining "I hate coffee!!! Why did you have to make it with coffee!!!"
***On Saturdays we all kick in for lottery tickets. When approached with the offer to buy in she excuses herself with "I'm not 18"....
***She catches you at the worst times. Most of her evening is spent hiding in the darker corners of the restaurant or chatting with the hostess, still there comes a couple of times where she has to look like she's doing a semblance of work. She's gotten a dessert order off a small table and is too flustered to undertake both the desserts and the cappuccinos, and so starts with you - "Are you busy?...." And I've a vodka bottle in one hand and 2 bottles of wine on the counter for different tables - she can't handle liquor, she's underage - and you look at her.
For somebody so smart she's pretty fucking stupid.
She's manipulative, she takes to telling me the "Manager wants you to set this table..." when I'm running my ass off. She's the busgirl, but it's a bit beneath her. And, oddly, I know what tables need setting, and do it ASAP, but dead tables are not always the priority. I check with the manageress, she's said no such thing, and we're starting to get a little bit of a handle on what makes this little sociopath tick. It's high-school musical, every day...
These small manipulations, they're not limited to me, I see her playing the same games with the other staff, and they're beginning to catch on.
I collect corks, vague plans for a grand mixed media art project. At the moment, schedule and all what it is, I'm only collecting. But she finds my stash of corks beneath the till and asks if she can have some. "What for?" I inquire, no reason, she just wants some. I tell her can take some, but it's a generous some, and I catch her hand beneath the till on numerous occasions, she pretends it's a game, these petty thefts, but I'm annoyed.
***Everyone else, it would seem, is annoyed as well, and staff is agreed that she has to go. Well, everyone but the Nephew, who's agreed but he has other hopes to consider as well.... We approach the owner, he agrees that she's a bit young, but we decide to give her fair warning...
***She still can't figure out why I don't like her. I assure her it doesn't matter, that all I expect is that she shows up and does some work, she doesn't like to work and instead follows the hostess around telling her tales of her busy social life. Or hides away in corners to snack and text her secret admirers. The Nephew, he's a bit of an obsession with her, her youth, specifically, and he's been interrupted in compromising positions with her in the bathroom during the shift, she'll do whatever it takes to keep the job, as long as it doesn't involve work.
"Your obsession with fucking her..." I tell him "Will end with her fucking you...". He pays no attention, she's wants him to get his own apartment, move out from his girlfriend, then she'll sleep with him. He does all his thinking with his cock.
She follows me around the restaurant, being overly friendly, I'm the holdout, no one else particularly likes her, all would be glad to see her go, but I'm a little more direct in my criticism. Not personal, merely "please do some work", and she doesn't like that, being told what to do, and so seeks to ingratiate herself to me by telling me of a book she's working on and would I like to proofread it for her? and I politely decline, too busy with work, other projects on the go, and really I'm not a critic...
Still she seeks to flatter me, my judgement, it would be doing her the biggest of favours, and I dismiss her, she returns with another favour, compliments me on trifles, these pathetic attempts to win my confidence, chastised when I send her away disappointed.
And there's no doubt in my mind, no doubt whatsoever, she's a gypsy.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1708
The Nephew is depressed, he's moving out from his girlfriend. He's "moved out" before, or made pretenses of moving out, always changing his mind at the last minute. But this time it's set, he's moving out, and every day he's looking at places in the neighborhood.
He only wants to spend about $300.00 a month for a room, "I'm never home" is his rationale, he's right, but $300.00 a month doesn't buy you much, as he's finding out.
He's got some amusing descriptions of the crack houses he's looked at so far, a little skit he does where the landlord shows him around some depressing hole of a house, then when it comes time to show him his room makes a pretense of opening the door an inch and then closing it...
"I want to see inside" he protests, and the landlord again opens the door another inch, then closes it. He says that he wants to step inside, look around it, the landlord drops the price, originally it was listed at $425 a month, but he can have it for $350, heck, $300 a month, they like him, if only he won't go inside....
In the end he gets inside the room, a urine and sweat soaked mattress on the floor, the landlord stands there sheepishly, looking at the floor - he's black, the landlord, and the nephew uses this prove how bad the room is: "You know what it takes to embarrass a black guy? They don't embarrass that easy...."
Meanwhile he's staying with his girlfriend. They've just had make-up sex, he throws $20 on the bed and tells her he's done and she should get out, It's a grand and empty gesture, this doesn't go down so well, it is, after all, her place, and while she lies on the bed he walks into the living room to scratch his balls and ask her new roommate if she "want's some?"....
He needs a new place.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1807
He's a regular, of sorts, by which I mean we know his name. Sometimes he's in 2 or three times a week, other times it might be a month or two before we see him.
This week he's been quite regular.
Now, unlike most of our more regular customers he's quite good. Quiet, no special requests, he spends money and tips well. I like him.
This week something's up.
The first time we see him he's with the new philanthropist, a regular customer who's just received some media attention over a sizable donation he's made to a local trade college. They drink Amarone, and chat like old friends, Dr. X pays the bill.
The second time he's with the President of a local University, drink Ripassa, again it's Dr. X paying the bill.
Now it seems coincidental, but I have a suspicion that Dr. X is soliciting the philanthropist on behalf of the President, and I have to admire how he pairs the wine with his guest, feting each according to their expectations.
It's odd, too, how he knows so many of our other customers, it's not uncommon for them to come in and sit on other sides of the dining room and not exchange a hello, but today he's got business with them. A lot of our customers are the same way.
He comes in again - this third guest of his I don't know, appears to be a tradesman of sorts, and with him they each drink juice and skip the appetizers.
Something is up, I don't know what it is, could make a guess but he is, after all, the inscrutable doctor.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1689
Predictably the talking waiter didn't show up for lunch today. Or evening.
And we're all speculating what's become of him - the whole situation - to say the least - is odd....
His wife, she didn't call today and she knew he was supposed to be at work. Odd. We try and reach her, she doesn't know what's going on, only that he's left the city to try and "change his luck" - Vancouver, she thinks....
We don't believe her.
After work, when I get home there's a message on my telephone telling me that he's in Frankfurt Airport, on his way to Tunisia, emergency, he won't be in to work (and I gathered that..). But oddly there's nothing on my call display to substantiate this.
The plot thickens and the mystery deepens.